#sass whinges a bit

[sassysnowperson]

You know, while I understand the complaint of, "I hate how books are marketed these days, don't give me a list of tags or a snippet in the middle of a list of *LGBTQ Books!* Tell me what it's about," I've privately been on the side of - different people need different information! This probably really works for some brains.

But. I recently saw a blurb for She Who Became the Sun by Shelly Parker Chan that described it as having an ace genderqueer main character with a lesbian wife and they set great boundaries with each other and communicate really well!

And...look yes, this *is* the first book I've read that had an obviously ace character enjoying sex in a way that felt true to the ace experience. *But*, uh, look. Those spouses got married right after the last one's fiancee got flayed alive and it was absolutely a political move. The book itself is about someone scrambling for greatness out of nothing and willing to trample whatever is needed on the way. It's not a love story. It's a very, very good story about power and corruption and survival. And it's written in a fascinating distant third person narration voice that is engaging and off-putting at the same time.

So yeah, I do still believe different people need different information. But also maybe do not pick up She Who Became the Sun for the sake of the ace genderqueer main character and the lesbian wife.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Making it Work (Chapter One)

Okay, so one of my New Year's Resolutions was to finally finish up this beastie and get it posted. It's an Auror Partner (enemies-to-friends-to-lovers) fic that I've been messing with for about two years at this point and it's more than halfway done so we're going to do it. This is going to be a lot of parts (it's presently 18 chapters and over 60,000 words long) and the explicit bits will only be on AO3. I'll tag all of the parts "making it work fic" if you'd like to follow along. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed it!

Harry tossed down the handful of parchment that comes with having a partner reassigned, on his desk before tearing off his robe. He’d just gotten out of a travesty of a meeting with Robards, how they could keep assigning him such half-wits as partners, was beyond him. 

He poked his head out of the office door, “Helena?”

“What?” she replied, snapping her gum as she flipped the page of her magazine that she was reading while she filled out case notes. She was the most disrespectful secretary he’d ever had, always snapping her gum, and sassing Harry, telling him he was an idiot, and she was terrible at taking his messages. But she didn’t think that Harry shot gold bricks. So. 

He loved her. 

“Hold my owls, please.”

She looked up from the notes she was transcribing onto the official form, “Who is it, then?” she asked, sounding a bit put out.

“I don’t know yet, but you’ll be the first to know when I do.”

“You always do this," she grumbled. "Better not be some wanker,” she muttered under her breath. Then she frowned up at him, “I liked Henry,” she whinged. 

“Oi,” Harry muttered, correcting her language, but his heart wasn’t in it, they both knew it. “Language. The new Auror joining us in this office may not like your snarkiness, and they will be as much your boss as I am.”

“So, not very much at all then,” she said with a smirk.

“Bloody cheeky,” Harry said, shaking his head. 

“You love it,” she replied.

He didn’t bother denying it, “Well, my new partner might not.”

An interdepartmental memo zipped into the office and Harry took the opportunity to close the door between the two of them. He took a deep breath and tried smoothing down his hair nervously. He hadn’t intended to get Henry reassigned. He was a nice enough bloke but he had been more concerned with Harry’s safety on a case than on the task ahead of them and that wouldn’t do. 

He’d tried to tell the powers that be repeatedly that he needed someone who didn’t see him as the savior to work with him. It was a danger to him and to everyone around them otherwise. 

Shaking his head, he glanced over to the window and startled to see a lovely white cat lying out in the sun. 

“Well, hello there, beautiful boy,” he said as he wandered over to the cat who stood up warily as he approached. He crouched down in front of the cat and held out his hand, “It’s alright,” he soothed. 

The cat stuck its nose up at the offering of Harry’s hand but rubbed against his right shin before twisting around to rub against Harry’s left thigh. This time, he allowed Harry to scratch between his ears before stretching then gracefully jumping up on Harry’s desk.

“Careful, lovely,” Harry murmured to the cat as it flopped gracefully over onto the pile of papers he’d tossed down on the way in. 

“Harry?” Helena called, she sounded vaguely nervous which did not bode well. “You need to see this interdepartmental memo.”

“I told you to hold them,” he said, scratching the cat’s chest while the cat rolled on his papers and purred.

“Yeah, you’re going to want to read this.”

Harry huffed a sigh and turned away from the cat, who jumped down from the desk, pushing the papers onto the floor. 

“I told you to be careful,” Harry tsked softlyy at the cat, who ignored him in favor of rubbing against the chair. 

He bent down to pick up the papers as Helena called, “Seriously, this shouldn’t wait.”

With a sigh, he tossed the papers back on his desk and opened the door again. The cat followed him out into the waiting room outside his office and rubbed against the corner of the desk before sitting and delicately licking its paw. 

Harry snatched the memo from her hand and read the brisk lines.

AUROR  POTTER, PLEASE ENSURE THE SECOND DESK IN YOUR OFFICE IS READY FOR YOUR NEW PARTNER TODAY. AUROR MALFOY WILL BE MOVING HIS THINGS IN SHORTLY.  HA ROBARDS

“Are you punking me, Helena?” he asked because that was the only logical explanation for this missive. There was no way anyone in their right mind would have paired him and Malfoy together. 

They’d kill each other in the first week. 

“No,” she said softly, more seriously than he had ever heard her.

He stared blankly ahead for a moment, “Fuck me,” he grunted. At Helena’s startled laugh, he came back to himself. He shook his head ruefully, “Sorry.” 

He went back into his office before she could say anything else and looked around. The second desk was clear, Henry had cleared his things out the evening before and Harry had decided to try to tidy up some of his things as well, first impressions and all that.

Not that there was anything that could fix the past decade worth of impressions they'd had on one another at this point, he thought glumly.

It was only a few minutes later when he could feel Malfoy enter the room. He’d always had a strong magical signature, Harry just hadn’t learned to recognize it until he’d become an Auror. He took a steadying breath, “Malfoy,” he said by way of greeting.

“Potter,” came the terse reply.

Harry turned around and they stood staring at one another for a long moment, there was tension there, a lifetime of anger and resentment broiling between them. He clenched his fists and slowly relaxed them. “I don’t know how this is going to work.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Potter,” Malfoy snapped, as he pushed in past him, all of his boxes levitating behind him. “Don’t be such a child. Am I to assume this is my desk?” he asked, waving an irritatingly graceful hand at the desk that didn’t belong to Harry. 

Harry was frankly surprised that he hadn’t tried to move to his desk just to be contrary instead. “Yes,” he said.

Malfoy started spelling his possessions out of his boxes and into the drawers and filing cabinet. 

“Why are you unpacking?” Harry asked.

Malfoy didn’t even pause in directing his files to the correct drawers. “I was under the impression that I now have the distinct honor of being assigned as your new partner,” he drawled.

“We’ll never pass the compatibility test,” Harry said.

“Finally admitting how hard you are to work with, Potter?” Malfoy asked with a smirk.

Harry glared at Malfoy, “Oddly it wasn’t me I was worried about.”

“Ah,” Malfoy said, “Still struggling under the weight of your massive ego, then?”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Harry all but snarled at him.

“How many partners have you had?” Malfoy asked, his voice irritatingly collected as he leaned his hip against his desk and folded his arms over his chest.

“What does that have to do-”

“How. many,” he interrupted calmly.

“Six,” Harry spat.

“So, that makes me lucky number seven,” Malfoy said, “Do you know how many partners I’ve had, Potter?” 

“No.”

“One. I have been with my last partner for the past four years; he retired a few days ago and that is the only reason I need a new partner. What was your longest stint with a partner? Ten months?” 

“That isn’t my fault.”

“Of course not,” Malfoy said placatingly, and Harry hated how calm he sounded. “It couldn’t possibly be that the Savior of the Wizarding World is hard to work with.”

“I’m not hard to work with!” Harry protested. 

“No?”

“No!” Harry snapped. “I am great at teamwork.”

“Sure,” Malfoy replied with that haughty, trademark Malfoy smirk that had always driven Harry round the twist. 

Harry was about to reply, something scathing, he was certain when Helena interrupted them. “Harry? Auror Malfoy?” she asked, a touch more timid than Harry had ever heard her.

“Draco, please,” Malfoy corrected her, but his voice was warm and open in a way Harry found exceedingly suspicious. 

“Draco,” she corrected and gave him a tiny half-smile. 

Bloody Malfoy charm was already winning over his favorite secretary. “Did you have something you needed to say?” Harry snapped at her.

“Yes, I can see how easy you are to work with,” Draco commented dryly.

Helena snorted at this and Harry glared at her, betrayal burning in his gut. She glanced at him and smoothed her face into some semblance of seriousness. “Head Auror Robards would like to see you in his office.”

“Good. The sooner we get the compatibility tests out of the way the better,” Harry said. “Then we can forget about this farce.”

He started out down the hall, Malfoy at his left, “Potter, have you ever failed a compatibility test?”

“No,” Harry replied, “Because I am easy to work with.”

“Right,” Malfoy said again. “What do you imagine happens when you fail a compatibility test?”

“Your partner gets reassigned,” Harry said. The ministry would never make you work with someone who was dangerous for your well being. Partners had to be able to trust one another, if they couldn’t there was no hope of them being able to work out in the field.

He walked up to Robard’s assistant, “Hello, Matthew.”

“Hello Auror Potter,” he replied, then peeked around Harry, “Auror Malfoy.”

“Head Auror Robards summoned us,” Harry told him even as Malfoy tried to greet him.

“Yes,” he said, “He’s ready for you.”

Harry stomped toward the door, but Malfoy stopped at his desk, “It’s Draco,” he told him and Harry heard Matthew laugh. “How’s that new crup pup?”

Matthew all but squealed with delight, “He’s perfect,” he gushed. “Well, mostly,” he said with a laugh. “We're still working on house training.”

Draco laughed, “Good. I’m glad.”

“Thank you for the recommendation,” he said.

Harry cleared his throat, “If you’re ready, Malfoy?”

“Sorry, Matt,” Draco said, nodding toward Harry. “Best be off. Say hi to Laurence for me.”

“Will do,” the other man replied easily.

They walked through the door that let them into the hallway leading to Robard’s office. “What are you playing at?”

“Pardon?” Malfoy asked, in the most bored tone Harry’d ever heard. 

“Oh, Matt, tell me about your puppy. Say hi to your husband for me. Kisses, kisses,” Harry mocked.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Potter,” he replied.

“Oh, no? Did you get him the crup from the black market or something?”

“You can’t be serious,” Malfoy said as they stopped outside of the door into Robard’s office. “You are serious. Circe. Can you even hear yourself? Is it even possible for someone as stupid as you clearly are to become an Auror?”

“Is it even possible for someone as slimy and malicious as you to be an Auror?” Harry countered.

Malfoy inhaled deeply through his nose, “Listen, Potter. I know it will be difficult for you to understand, but I’ll try to use small words. Not all of us are still stuck in their Glory Days at Hogwarts. Some of us have grown and changed.”

“Like I can even believe a word-”

The door in front of them opened and Robards looked the two of them up and down, “If you’re quite through,” he drawled. “I haven’t got all day to wait for you two to have your spat.”

“It’s his fault,” Harry accused even as Malfoy said, “My apologies, Head Auror.”

Harry seethed, now Malfoy was just trying to make him look bad. 

“Inside,” Robards said as he turned from them and went back into the office.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Harry hissed.

“What? Keep my job?” Draco asked, voice equally soft but hard.

“Not another word,” Robards said.

“But, Sir,” Harry started as the two of them sat down in front of his desk, “You can’t honestly expect us to work together. We have nothing in common and we’ll probably end up killing one another.”

“I was under the impression that you’d spoken at Auror Malfoy’s hearing after the war.”

“Yes, but-”

“And that you’d pushed for him to be released,”

“Yes, but-”

“And encouraged them to rule him innocent of all crimes.”

“Yes, but-”

“So, what are your objections?”

“He’s,” Harry started before realizing ‘a massive git’ probably wouldn’t do. “Malfoy,” he finished lamely. “We’ve never gotten on a day in our lives. We have nothing in common.”

Robards turned to Malfoy, “Auror Malfoy, do you have the same reservations?”

Harry whipped his head to look over at Malfoy next to him. Malfoy didn’t even glance at him but looked straight at Robards. He cleared his throat, “Sir, we had a childhood rivalry.”

“A childhood rivalry?!” Harry exclaimed, that hardly seemed to do their antagonism justice. 

Robards turned to glare at Harry, “Auror Malfoy didn’t interrupt you while you were speaking, could you please manage to offer him the same courtesy?”

Harry fell back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Perhaps it sounds understated when I say childhood rivalry,” Malfoy said, then he added, “We openly antagonized one another. I said cruel things about him and his friends, he returned the favor.”

“More than cruel,” Harry muttered.

“More than cruel,” Malfoy affirmed softly, looking down at his lap and for a moment Harry forgot to hate him and felt a little guilty. Then Malfoy looked up again, eyes clear and Harry’s stomach unclenched, “But I am not the boy I was at school,” he said, glancing at Harry. “And neither is Potter.” He paused, then added, “As much as he is trying to make himself seem like he is.” 

Harry wanted to offer an angry retort but knew that would only serve to demonstrate what Malfoy was saying.

“I think,” Malfoy said carefully, “That working together will be a challenge, nonetheless. There’s a lot of history between us, not much of it good.”

“That seems like an understatement.”

“Look, Potter,” Robards said, “I’m going to be frank with you. You’re a damn good Auror,” he said and Harry preened at the compliment. “But you are a massive pain in my arse.”

Malfoy snorted and Robards glared at him. “Sorry,” Malfoy said, holding out a hand and smoothing out the smirk on his face.

Robards turned back to Harry, who still felt affronted at his comment. “I have never had an Auror go through as many partners as you have.”

“It’s not my fault,” Harry said, skin heating. “It’s not right for me to have a partner that thinks my life is more valuable than anyone else’s. It’s dangerous.”

“I hear you. I have heard you saying that for the past 4 years but you’re Harry Potter,” he said with a shrug. “It’s damn near impossible to find anyone who doesn’t have a bit of a hero-worship complex where you’re concerned.”

Harry frowned at that, “I never asked for that. And I have lots of friends who don’t see me that way.” None that were Aurors, Harry thought somewhat bitterly at Ron.

“Merlin, Potter,” he grunted as he took his glasses off to rub his eyes in a weary sort of gesture. “I’m not blaming you for that, I am just saying I heard you and as soon as Auror Malfoy’s partner retired, I knew I’d found a solution.”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realized exactly where this was going. 

“Auror Malfoy is an outstanding Auror, he was at the top of his class and he’s done well here. He also doesn’t have the problem your past partners have of idolizing you.”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure what he was meant to say because as much as he may not like it, Robards had a point.

Robards looked between the two of them and when neither of them said anything he continued, “Now. When you go to your compatibility testing and fail,” Harry wanted to bristle at that, but it was probably the truth, “you’re going to have a month to get your scores to passing.”

“Wait,” Harry said, “So if we fail, we aren’t automatically assigned a new partner?”

“No,” Robards replied, “I don’t have an endless supply of Aurors to pair you with Potter. As I was saying, when you fail, you’ll have a month to get your scores to passing. The ministry owns a property that is most commonly used as a safe house, but when you fail, the two of you are going to move into it together.”

“You want us to live together?” Malfoy spluttered and Harry couldn’t help but share the sentiment. 

“Yes. You’ll come to work each day and work together, on office work not in the field, then you’ll have one hour from the end of the workday to run errands, pick up things you need from the store or your homes, and any other personal business you have. After that hour you’ll need to spend your evenings together.”

“What if I want to have dinner with my friends?” Harry asked. 

“Then you’ll bring Auror Malfoy with you and vice versa. You’re both smart, you’ll figure it out.” Robards shuffled the papers on his desk into a neat pile and Harry could do nothing but stare incredulously at him. “You are dismissed to have your compatibility test. Once it’s finished you’re done for the day; you will have two hours to get what you’ll need to move in to this address,” he said as two slips of paper floated across the desk to Malfoy and Harry. “You’ll be keyed into the wards before you arrive.”

The clock on the wall struck three and Robards glanced at it. “I’ve got to go, I have an appointment with the Minister. Matthew can answer any questions you may have about the property.”

With that, he shooed them out of his office and Harry walked down the hall in a daze. He must be dreaming. It was the only explanation. 

Malfoy stopped to talk to Matthew, presumably to ask questions about the safe house they were about to move into, but Harry couldn’t hear it. “I’m going to use the loo. I’ll meet you at Auror Higgins office,” he said vaguely. 

-----------------------

(Part Two)

[greyeyedmonster-18]

good things take time

“I’m short.”

Sirius tilted his head, “You’re growing, Harry.”

“Yeah but I’m still short,” he mumbled, “Ron’s taller now, even Hermione is and I’m tired of waiting. It’s embarrassing.”

Sirius made a noise of understanding. That’s what this was about. Not about a tie or a piece of clothing at all. It was about being in a room full of other teenagers who were all going through growth spurts and Harry was falling behind.

-----

It was Christmas Eve at the Potter-Lupin-Black household and Remus and Sirius were tucked away in their bedroom getting ready for their home to be flooded with noise and guests at the annual holiday dinner they hosted. They were in their bathroom, sharing kisses between comments and snogging sessions between belt buckles, relishing moments of quiet before their home was filled with hoards of teenagers and chatty adults, when their bedroom door flew open, an audibly huffy Harry passing the threshold without a knock.

“Woa, hey,” Remus recovered first, pulling away from Sirius as his partner sorted out his trousers, walking into the bedroom to see Harry standing there with a tie in his hands and a scowl on his face, “You really need to knock, Harry, that could’ve been...catastrophic for you.”

Harry’s sour expression deepened, “We have people coming, you know. I don’t think now is the time to be shagging.” Sirius snorted from the bathroom as he finished tucking in his shirt, walking to where his husband was now inhaling deeply. Having a teenager, as much fun as Sirius thought it was, was proving to be a lesson in patience and Remus had a very short fuse when it came to back-talk. 

“Did you need something?” Remus asked calmly, “Or are you just here to give us attitude because I might request that wait a few days. Boxing day is much more appropriate for sass.”

Harry rolled his eyes, with all the annoyance the fourteen year old could, “I don’t understand why we have to dress up for this thing. Every year. It’s not like the Weasleys care, or the Tonks or bloody anyone.”

“I dunno, Andromeda might care a bit,” Sirius offered, putting his hand on Remus’ back. Harry undeniably looked like James, but in the moments where he put on a challenge, Sirius saw nothing but Lily. He saw it in the way Harry’s chin jutted out and the way he would fold his arms; he saw it in the way he didn’t back down even when he knew he was wrong. Which was perhaps why Sirius had been sifting through more of the arguments since Harry had drifted into his teens, having had more practice diffusing Lily Evans who had a temper to match her hair. 

“She’s one person,” muttered Harry, looking down at his sock-clad feet, “It’s stupid.”

“I might agree with you,” Sirius nodded.

“Then why do we do it? You’re the one’s hosting, you can make the rules...just change it and we can all wear jeans or whatever...” 

“I had no idea you were so passionate about clothing, Harry.” Sirius said, “Should I write Witch Weekly and see if they have an opening for a columnist?” 

Harry looked up at his godfather, spitting image of his mother, “Piss off, you’re not funny.”

“Harry James, please watch your mouth,” Remus said mildly.

“Why? You don’t.” 

Remus cleared his throat, a breath away from walking away from the situation to leave Sirius with his teenager, “Is there something we can help you with?”

“No, I’m just whinging.” Harry replied sarcastically and beside him Remus looked up at the ceiling. Sirius kissed Remus on the side of the face, before taking a seat on the chest at the foot of their bed. 

“You’re doing an excellent job, kid,” Remus responded nodding slowly, “Unfortunately, I didn’t schedule for it, so if you do decide you need something from me, I will be in the bathroom, just there, finishing with my own stuffy preparations.” Remus separated from Sirius, walking into the bathroom, Harry bristling slightly at the lack of response from Remus. The parenting books said not to engage in arguments and Harry was irritated even further that he didn’t have anyone to fight with, knowing he could usually get a rise out of Remus for being disrespectful. 

“Do you want some help with that?” asked Sirius gesturing to the tie in Harry’s hands after a few moments of silence and sitting, watching his teenager shuffle on his feet.

“No.” Harry said but moved closer to Sirius with a hefty sigh anyway, handing him the black tie in his hand. “Still think it’s a load of bullocks...you say all the time you don’t like dressing up... I don’t understand why we do it.”

Sirius smiled a little, sitting up so he could put the tie around his godson’s neck and under the collar of his burgundy shirt, “You’re right, I’m not the biggest fan of it either...but it’s tradition.”

“Why?”

“Your grandmother, actually.” Sirius smiled softly, well-practiced hands adjusting Harry’s tie and going through the motions of knotting it, “Your Dad would’ve worn sweatpants and t-shirts every day of his life if he could. He...was active and liked to be able to move in his clothing. He tried on a pair of my jeans once and it was hysterical.”

“Really?”

Sirius nodded, smiling at the memory, “He said they were too tight,” he said, “Anyway...your grandmother didn’t care, except for Christmas Eve. She and your grandfather would host these dinners and invite their friends and she said it was the one day the entire year she would ask your Dad to dress up. And... we did. Because it made her happy. And...I’d like to think it still makes her happy by upholding the tradition.”

“Oh.” Harry said mutely, the wind deflating from his sails as Sirius turned his collar over the tie, before putting his hands down on his thighs, “Thanks...I leave my school ones knotted.”

“I always did too.” but Harry continued to stand there, “Something else? I’ll put on your shoes for you if you’d like.”

“No,” Harry shook his head but his eyes met Sirius’, “How tall was my Dad? You know when...he was fourteen?”

“Mmm...probably about your height I would guess.”

“I’m short.”

Sirius tilted his head, “You’re growing, Harry.”

“Yeah but I’m still short,” he mumbled, “Ron’s taller now, even Hermione is and I’m tired of waiting. It’s embarrassing.”

Sirius made a noise of understanding. That’s what this was about. Not about a tie or a piece of clothing at all. It was about being in a room full of other teenagers who were all going through growth spurts and Harry was falling behind. 

“Good..things take time.” Sirius offered, “Remus was also very late to grow, and he turned out alright. Your Dad grew, and so will you. I promise.”

“Did you?”

“No,” Sirius told him, “I’ve always thought my ancestor made deals with the devil to give us strong genetics...but it was in exchange for being rotten people, which is a lot harder to unlearn.”

“I dunno. I think I’d take my chances with being a shit person if it meant I could reach the top of the tree...” Harry said and Sirius laughed quietly, hearing his husbands sigh from the bathroom.

“You, my love, have cashed in your blasphemy bank for the week.” Sirius teased, putting a hand on the side of Harry’s face, “And you might just have to trust me on this one.”

Harry sighed, and Sirius could feel him lean into the hand on his face a little, “Promise? What if I’m a short specky-git for the rest of my life?”

“Then, I will track down some ancient troll who casts spells and have them make you a terrible person in exchange for height and perfect eyesight. Or, I’ll chop off my legs and have St. Mungo’s give them to you. Sound good?”

“You have weird tattoos on them, though.” Harry made a face.

“Weird?” gasped Sirius in mock offense, “What part about a make-shift numerology puzzle is weird? If I ever get bored, I have a built in game on my ankle.”

“Weird.” Harry shrugged, finally cracking a smile, “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” he said standing up, moving to kiss Harry on top of his messy hair. 

“Do...you think I could see pictures sometime? Do you have any? Of Christmas parties with my grandma?” he asked looking up at Sirius

“We have so many. Why...don’t you go finish getting dressed, and I will meet in you in the kitchen with a few. Yeah? I haven’t looked at them in some time either.” Harry’s smile increased finally, the scowl off his face, shifting from Lily to James with a single expression as he walked out of the room quickly. 

Sirius chuckled a little going to the bathroom where Remus had been listening, now properly dressed himself, brown leather shoes and all.

“Sirius Black teenager whisperer,” Remus told him, putting his hands around Sirius’ waist, “I think he was my kid for the past five years, but now he is definitely yours. Until he’s eighteen. Sound alright?” 

“Mhmm...” Sirius kissed him softly, “...Do you see Lily sometimes?”

“All the time, love. All the time.” 

“And...we’re also in agreement we’re never going to tell him how much we made fun of James for being shorter, right?” Sirius added, “I’m going to need a second just to get all my laughs out...he would get so upset when we put things just out of his reach...”

Remus grinned, “I will take that to my grave.”

[notcrypticbutcoy]

[1/2] Hey Lu! This is kind of a strange ask, but I've loved Malec since the books first came out, and have recently been getting into writing for the pairing. My issue is, I don't watch the show, and I don't... really enjoy watching TV, and especially drama (yay social anxiety!), so I have no desire to watch SH. A lot of the Malec stories are from people who watch the show, and while I've read enough to get a gist of the storylines,

[2/2] and I have nothing against Matt or Harry as the characters, I still have a mental image of Malec from the books’ description. I’ve also seen that a lot of people are Opinionated about book descriptions vs show descriptions, and as someone who’s written for both the books and show, do you have any recommendations for how to deal with writing for a strange amalgamation of both?

I don’t know quite why, but I’m really pleased you sent me this ask. Don’t get me wrong, I adore the show, it vastly improved upon many of the books’ issues (of which there were SO MANY) and the exponential growth of the fandom is wonderful. But there seems to be a common misconception that everyone who used to be in the book fandom (people like me!) just, like, blindly loved the books. And that’s not true! At all! In fact, I spent a lot of my time in the book fandom whinging with other people about canon, and analysing its issues, and someone wrote their damn dissertation (? the American equivalent, whatever that is?) on double standards in straight writers’ treatment of LGBT characters in YA fiction, using Alec as their main example. It was iconic.

But I digress. The truth is, to be completely honest with you, I ALWAYS write a strange amalgamation of book and show canon, with a little bit of a “fuck all canons to hell and back” thrown in. I have written my physical descriptions of the characters in line with show canon for the last few years, but that’s just because I haven’t read a SH book for years, so in my head, Alec and Magnus now look like Matt and Harry, not whatever I imagined when reading the books.

So my advice is this: someone will always tell you that your characters in your fic are out of character. Don’t worry about it. Someone will tell you that they simply could not possibly continue to read your fic because Alec had blue eyes. This is a strange squick, imo, but each to their own. I understand that it can be jarring to read a description that contradicts the image in your head. (Leaving a snide comment about it is attention-seeking and looking for a fight. Ignore it.) You’ll see people analysing how Magnus should always be written like THIS, or how Alec should never be written like THIS, and anyone who does is a BAD writer and a TERRIBLE person. Scroll past it.

And sometimes people won’t like your fics for other reasons, and that’s fine! As long as they’re not being rude about it, it really does not bother me if someone decides they don’t like how I write Alec so they stop reading my fics. That’s up to them! I’ve certainly done the same, sometimes.

(A side note: analysing a character’s canon characterisation is completely different and fun and I always love reading that kind of meta! Passive-aggressive subtweets about certain writers who write characters in certain ways is boring and unnecessary. Scroll past it.)

(Although, side note number 2: sometimes people are talking about more important things, like how certain stereotypes in fics can be harmful - e.g. the “tiny Magnus” trope. This is entirely different and is definitely something that you should pay attention to. Critical discussion is good!)

Truthfully, as much as the show differed from the books, Magnus and Alec are, at their core, the same characters. They’re not the same, by any stretch of the imagination, but I don’t think they’re quite as different as people sometimes make them out to be. Alec is a bit of a dick and he adores his family and Magnus is pleasantly disarmed by his honesty. Magnus hides his centuries of hurt and vulnerability behind power and sass and beautiful clothes and Alec turns into a disaster gay in his presence. (For example.) Conversely, Magnus is less morally grey in the show. Alec is more confident in the show. (Alec is also OLDER in the show, which I think is relevant. And also segues into a whole other discussion 😬). The show characters are more developed have have more depth to them, I think.

Pick and choose. Write the things that best fit whatever world you’ve thrown the characters into. Write the traits that you find interesting, or fun to write! I’m sad that Magnus lost his sass a bit after season 1 - cue me sometimes writing an overload of Magnus’ snarky comments and flagrant innuendos. Sometimes I want to write some h/c, so everyone gets more angsty and traumatised. Sometimes I need more detail/backstory (particularly true when the show was only a season or two in) so I steal from book canon, or completely make it up. Fics are fics for a reason - canon can be embraced in its entirety or you can ignore the whole damn lot of it, and both are completely valid.

I mean, I’ve never written a particularly in-character Jace or Clary in my entire life, because they annoy me so frequently in canon. (Both canons.) So I cherry-pick the traits I enjoy writing, and toss the rest out of the window.

So, TL;DR:

- I am apparently incapable of answering an ask in a helpful, concise way, lol

- write whatever you enjoy! if it feels authentic and if you’re having fun writing and you’re excited by (or at least interested in) what you’re writing, then people will read it, I promise.

- people will always find something to complain about. you can follow every rule that one half of twitter gives you, and then the other half will go ballistic. there’s no right and wrong. people have opinions on things, and that’s fine! but there are always going to be differing and conflicting opinions, so you can’t please everyone. if you try to, you will drive yourself mad and you’ll stop having fun writing fics. trust me - I’ve been there! just enjoy yourself - that’s what fandom is for!

An important one:

- tag your fics with TMI/SH chronicles and the SH show in the fandom section. that way, if somebody is really determined not to read anything containing any hint of book canon (or show canon) they can avoid it

I hope that helps! Have fun writing!

[musikat18]

Cuddle Pile Drabble

Just something fun based on some conversation with @yallneedtrek and @annathewitch yesterday, specifically asked for at length by @bsotstory. I hope everybody enjoys my little cuddle pile of happiness and snuggles and sass. 

Leonard’s eyebrow quirked at the sound of the door opening, and he turned his head just enough from his work to see the shorter brunette trudge through the door and toss her bag down on the empty recliner instead of sitting in it like she probably should have.

“Long day, darlin’?”

A frustrated grumble as she threw herself into the carpet.

“Darlin’?”

This time, there was colorful language thrown in.

“Oh, fuck. You said fuck.”

A nod.

Setting his work aside, he knelt beside her and gently squeezed her shoulders.

“I can appreciate your need to lay down, darlin’, but I think you’ll be a little more comfortable at the very least on the couch.”

Now, a distinctly more threatening grumble.

“Don’t make me call in the cavalry.”

A small, green-painted middle finger was thrust up in the air. Bones heaved in a sigh and poked his head out the back door to the man in the backyard.

“We’ve got a Code Fuck, Gavin.”

“Code Fuck? Damn. How bad of a Code Fuck?”

“She won’t get off the floor.”

Gavin frowned to the side and wiped at his brow, “Double damn. D’you think I might be able to get her upstairs without getting my arm ripped off?”

“You know Sara’s not the arm-ripping type. It’s the other two you’d have to worry about.”

Gavin just clapped Bones’ shoulder, “I’ll see what I can do.”

The doctor moved to the kitchen, and Gavin bent down by the brunette, who was now lightly hitting her head against the carpet.

“Hey there, angel. Rough day?”

Another grunt, though this one wordless.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“The next person to ask anything of me gets a throat punch.”

This gave Gavin a pretty good litmus of exactly how deep in Code Fuck territory they were.

“...That sounds fair. How about a snack? Maybe a nap? Doctor Eyebrows over there—“

“We have the same eyebrows, don’t be a dick.”

“—He’s feeling grumpy, but I’m sure he could put some tea on.”

“What do you think I’m in here for?”

“I don’t know, it’s not like you’ve been resting all day, either—“

“Children,” Vaako frowned as he approached. “Bickering children.” He knelt down and gently tilted her chin up as far as she could comfortably move her head to look at him. “Feeling tired, my starlight?”

“...More than a few ways, yeah,” she muttered. “Probably would be less so if people did their damn job and didn’t expect me to fucking fix everything.”

“A Code Fuck, and no one thought to call me,” Vaako said, clearly feeling a bit slighted.

“I’m sorry, did we just all forget I’m an actual doctor?” Bones came back over, a hot mug in hand. “And also that I’m here?”

“Yes, you are here, and bickering when my starlight is in need of comfort.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing with us right now?!”

Said ‘starlight’ was now glaring up at the three of them, catching their attention with a little clearing of her throat.

“Well, if it’s this serious, I’m sure he’ll want to see you,” the Necromonger suggested. The brunette’s face changed in an instant from disapproving to chastened.

“Siberius, no, it’s daytime, he’ll probably be asleep, I don’t want to--”

“He’d prefer it to you whinging on the floor, I’m sure,” Vaako stood. “Lumberjack, attend her.”

“Vaako!”

A squeak of surprise slipped past her lips as Gavin swiftly scooped her up and started up the stairs.

“I have a name, you know,” Gavin reminded him.

“You haven’t earned my use of it today.”

“Well, sorry, Mr. Keep-What-You-Kill.”

“You guys!” the female twisted around, eyeing her discarded bag, “I have actual work to do! I can’t just--”

Bones folded his arms as he followed behind the lumberjack, “Now you’re starting to sound worse than me.” In spite of the circumstances being clearly against her, she babbled things about agendas and deadlines and revisions and research in hopes of being perhaps set at her desk instead of the bed, but she was unceremoniously dropped on top of the obviously-sleeping vampire in the darkened bedroom, accidentally jolting him awake.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” he chuckled at the indignant female laying on his chest. “What brings you here so early?”

“They think I need a break,” she pointed at the three men standing above them, “and yes, it’s been a long few days, but I’m fine, really, I promise!”

She was in the process of explaining further when he brought up a hand to brush across her cheek.

“Your eyes are looking less bright than yesterday…”

She frowned to the side, “Gee, thanks for noticing.”

Black Hat gently laid her head to one side against his chest, “I don’t think there’s any reason for you to not take a little break.”

“But--”

“No buts, angel,” Gavin assumed his place on her far side, running his fingers lightly through her hair. “You need a break.”

Bones sighed, put the cup he’d brought up with him on the bedside table, and moved to lay at just the right side to be able to lace one of her hands in his, “I can reheat that later. Sleep first is probably the best plan.”

“I agree,” Vaako’s lips delicately brushed her neck as he became a comfortable, cool weight over her. “And I’m glad that seems to be what we can all agree on.”

She momentarily thought about all she’d have to do later, but her heartbeat was a small reminder of how little that mattered.

As long as she had this kind of support, she’d be able to conquer anything.

[toonerdyandiknowit]

Hardware

Part 2

You just wanted to live a normal life, damnit! Also, bonding with Tony.

I’m not sure how many chapters this thing is going to be, but I’m aiming for about 5.

Little bit angsty! 

[Y/N] = Your Name

[Y/H/L] = Your hair length

[Y/H/C] = Your hair colour

"So..." you hummed, "Now what?"

------------

The answer to that was, apparently, move in with the Avengers.

Your new place was nice, sure. All your things had been moved and placed the way you liked them in your bedroom and living room. Stark "Call me Tony" had even gifted you with an amazing bookshelf after his first "welcome to the building" visit a week and a half ago.

You were a bit of a book hoarder, with no particular bias towards any one genre. You even had an "Engineering for dummies" that had sat gathering dust since you first discovered your powers. You'd reasoned, at the time, that you should probably know something about what you could do on instinct. You quickly gave up. Mostly, though, you just had sci-fi and fantasy. Either way, you'd never invested in buying a bookshelf yourself, preferring to just pile them up on any available space, a process you had brought over to your new place.

You'd been a little mortified when you realised he must have overseen the organisation of the enormous bookshelf himself (or maybe he just did it all, something that gave you nightmares). You were leaning towards the latter, especially when you realised all your, ahem, adult novels, had been organised by colour on the bottom shelf - and each was covered in post-its with winky faces on. You were also pretty sure there were new ones added to the collection. You were going to have to have a chat about boundaries.

The kitchen was downstairs in the community area, huge and always well stocked, seeing as it was a communal kitchen for the whole team. Thankfully your rooms came with their own bathroom and it was to die for. Also huge, the bath could seat four, had a Jacuzzi setting and built in mood lighting. There was a T.V. in the wall opposite the bath, and the remote was built into the side of the tub. The shower was also within sight of the T.V. and had more settings than you knew what to do with.

Every room was tastefully decorated in your style and in your favourite colour. All in all, living in the base was pretty great.

There was only one, teeny, tiny, problem.

The place was crawling with Avengers.

They were always trying to get you involved in their group discussions, which Tony was always somehow absent for, and at first it seemed nice. Like they were trying to get to know you and make you comfortable. It became quickly apparent that wasn't the case. They spoke about super hero things you didn't understand or want to know about, and you were treated as though that was some kind of failure on your part.

The truth was you weren't interested in the newest work out or the latest weaponry. You didn't care about how their new outfits were so much better for field work compared to the old ones. You didn't want to trade opinions about the state of this country or that country, and when would be the right time to interfere in this situation or that situation. You didn't care about being an Avenger.

It was not a popular opinion.

"If you don't want to use your powers for good, then why have them at all?" Spat Wanda one day. You'd made the mistake of comparing your situations - sure, you both had powers, but you didn't want to use them the way she did.

"Look," you sighed, pushing your half eaten bowl of cereal away, "I didn't choose this, ok? I didn't sign up, or volunteer, or whatever, for these powers. I wasn't soldier or a spy before I got them. I was a student. An English Literature student." You raised your brows, hoping that that would be enough to get the message across.

"But..." started Hawk.

"Look, no. Just no." you barked, standing, "I've been trying to play nice here why you all prodded and poked at me, trying to figure my powers out, but enough. Once your pals at SHEILD decide I can have my life back, that’s what I'm doing: Going back to my life. I fix things because my powers mean I can - and don't have to actually know anything about what I'm fixing."

" [Y/N] If you have the power to make a difference," intoned Steve, "Don't you think it's your responsibility to do something?"

"Tell me something Captain, do you think everyone who takes self defence, everyone who knows how to fire a gun, everyone who knows martial arts, do you think they should all join the army?" you snap.

"Of course not." he scoffs.

"Well? Why not? They have abilities, they can fight and look after themselves. How many times do I have to tell you? I am not a soldier. I was a librarian. Now apparently I'm the best, most ignorant mechanic alive. I do not want to be an Avenger. And no amount of whinging, complaining, or guilt trips, will change my mind." You tossed the last few sentences over your shoulder as you stormed out.

You'd never liked conflict. Sure, you'd sass your way in and out of all sorts of situations, and you'd throw a punch if you had to...but no. Conflict and arguments were not your forte.

Your feet seemed to know where to take you, even if your head wasn't caught up in the act, and you found yourself cautiously tapping at the glass doors of Tony's lab. He grinned when he saw you, hopping over to open the door for you.

"Hey Sparky, been wondering when you'd take up my invitation to come play engineer." He laughed, turning back to his desk to tinker with a pile of circuit boards. On the surface, they made no sense to you, but when you closed your eyes and focused, you could feel the little guys humming with...something. That indefinable something that let you understand tech of all kinds.

"Hm." You grunted, flicking your eyes open and darting them across the lab. Every surface was littered with electrical gear, tools, wiring, pipes and god knows what else. Some walls had burn marks and others had chunks missing piles of dust and rubble scattered around them.

"Sparky?" You heard, twisting your head to look Tony in his concerned puppy eyes, standing much closer than he was a minute ago.

"You're shaking."

It wasn't until he said it that you realised he was right, a shiver had set in deep in your bones, wracking your body with minute quakes as you folded in on yourself.

"Ok, what's going on?" Tony asked, his voice concerned, but tinged with an underlying sharpness as he slowly reached out an arm to touch your shoulder.

"I just.." you sighed, grabbing fistfuls of your [Y/H/L] [Y/H/C] hair to brush it back off your forehead, dislodging Tony's hand as you did so, "I don't like conflict. Arguments, raised voices. And all everyone wants to talk about is if I'm going to be an Avenger."

You cursed silently as you realised your voice was shaking too, and your shivers were getting stronger as you started to get angry.

"And no matter how many times I tell them no, I'm not going to be, I don't want to be...they still just keep pushing. Trying to make me feel bad." Folding your arms across your chest, you looked at the ground, waiting for Tony to tell you that they were right. That you were being selfish, that you don't get to have a normal life because you're not normal anymore.

"Steve said that I have a responsibility to help people, cause I have these stupid powers. He made it sound like I don’t have a choice." Your voice was low and miserable as you hung your head.

You chanced a look at Tony, and couldn't help but flinch at the angry look you found there.

"Alright Sparks," he sighed, scratching at the back of his head, "Come take a seat."

You dawdled behind Tony as he led the way to a worse for wear leather sofa, and you couldn't help the way your lips twitched up as he threw all the gear strewn across it onto the floor. He fell back into the seat with a whumph, and sat staring straight ahead, waiting for you to sit down, but not trying to rush you.

You sat, curled in on yourself slightly as the shivers finally started to die down, though they didn't completely go away in the face of your assumption that Tony was about to start yelling too.

"Rogers seems to be forgetting that we picked you up to register you, not recruit you." He started, and you frowned as you turned to look at him, though he continued staring straight ahead, "See, he, and the others, have this thing about heroism. And the idea that some people don't want the lives they lead is...I dunno, they're a bunch of idiots that think they know best in all things to do with the safety of the planet. My point is," here he turned to look at you, "Any idiot could see you're not cut out for this life. I mean, they raise their voices and you turn into a shivering mess. No offence... and one of these days you're gonna tell me why that is. But for now, I'll talk to them. Try to get them to back off a little. In the mean time, you're welcome to come down here and talk shop with me, or just come down on your own, whenever you need a time out from them."

As he finished his little speech, your shivering finally stopped, and you watched with wide eyes as he looked up at the ceiling and told Friday to give you clearance to the lab, whilst making sure that everyone else on the team (with the exception of Bruce) couldn't enter without being let in by someone with authorisation.

The action reminded you of when you'd spoken briefly with Spider-Man, back when you first arrived, and he'd told you he didn't live with the others. He was still just a kid under the mask, went to school and lived with his aunt, and only Tony knew his real identity. Spidey (He said you could call him that, he actually preferred it over "Kid", as Tony had taken to calling him in front of the team) said out of everyone, Tony seemed to understand wanting to balance a normal life with hero work the best. You were shocked when he told you it was Tony who tried to talk him out of being Spider-Man until he was done with school, and that Steve had actually tried to get him to move in with the Avengers, even though he'd said no.

You didn't think Steve, or the rest of the team, were bad guys...but they were starting to sound more and more like they wanted to collect powered people to defend the world. Whether they liked it or not.

"Thank you." You were in awe. You'd naturally gotten along with Tony from day one, well...after you’d exchanged a few snide comments about kidnapping and Stockholm syndrome,  but you knew he was Iron Man, an original Avenger. And you'd thought he'd be on their side. But when you thought about it...

"Why did you even come back?" The words were out of your mouth before you could take them back, "I mean, never mind."

"No no, you wanna know why I'm still here, after everything that happened with the Accords?" he chirped, seemingly cheerful as he jumped up to continue his tinkering.

"Well, the world was in danger, yadda yadda yadda, same old same old. By the time the dust had cleared we'd all fallen back into our old roles and it just seemed like a waste of time to pick at healing wounds." His voice had grown harder as he pulled at a stubborn piece of machinery.

You knew a little of what had happened, and what you did know pointed towards most of the others turning on Tony for trying to do the right thing, ending with one of the team paralysed. You felt bad for picking at that particular wound, especially since, despite what Tony said, it didn't seem like it was healing all that well. Standing up and following him to the work bench, you peeked over his shoulder.

Focusing of the lump of metal in his hands, you asked it what was wrong.

"That bit."

"Huh?"

"You said to talk shop...so, um, it says that that bit is wiggled too far to the left and that it's disrupting the flow?" You glanced up at him sheepishly as he looked at you with raised eyebrows, before turning to glare at the contraption in his hand.

Passing him the small pair of tweezers by your hand, you giggled as he swore under his breath, trying to realign the wonky piece.

Sliding it into what you could only assume was some sort of software reader, data suddenly sprung up onto the nearby screen and Tony let out a shocked laugh.

"It told you?" He asked, a genuine smile in place as he glanced between you and the screen.

"Well, yeah? It's kinda how my power works, I guess I talk to the equipment."

"Really?" he asked, spinning to face you properly, "Well, what else is the stuff in the lab saying?"

You laughed, pleased to be of some use around here, and pleased to have taken his mind off of the darker aspects of your conversation, and spun in a slow circle with your eyes closed.

There was a lot of half finished stuff here, but mostly everything was singing happily. A smile wormed its way onto your face as you listened.

"There's a few things calling out for you to come finish fixing them but mostly.."

"Mostly what?"

"Mostly it's singing."

"Singing?" he asked sceptically.

"Well, what do you expect machines to do when they're happy and working perfectly?" you sassed, your tone indicating that this was a piece of obvious information.

"All right, all right, Sparky. Damn, wish I could hear that." The wistfulness in his voice made you twist your lips in sympathy, when a strange new voice in the song caught you attention.

"Well, now who are you?" You called over to the robot in the corner, whose “voice” told you it wanted to come say hi.

Pushing your power out, you stroked along its power base until it purred, rolling your way for more attention.

"That's Dum-E." said Tony, raising his eyebrows at the whizzing and churring coming from his robotic assistant.

"He's a sweetie!" you crooned, reaching to rub your hands under Dum-E's claw slash head, simultaneously continuing to stroke his electrical currents with your powers. Dum-E stretched his head out and twisted it to the side like a cat being fussed in just the right spot.

You stayed that way for a few minutes, allowing yourself to lose the days worries while you fussed over the sweet-natured machine. When you finally looked up, Tony was watching you fondly, a new piece of machinery to tinker with in his hands.

"You sure are something else Sparky."

[petrichormemory]

❝ I am history. forgotten and … old. ❞

She was about to sass him into the next century when she paused. This wasn’t some slight or offhand comment from a friend at the pub waxing on about lost youth while they drown their sorrows in another round. It wasn’t an older relative looking for a sympathetic ear to whinge about the follies of youth and times gone by. No, he was far older than any of that and had seen so much worse. 

Taking his expression as seriously as it looked, Amy took a slow step towards him. Her own face showed a bit of concern at the edges but not too much. What she knew was more than she could say but she could still say something.

“If you’re feelin old, I can get you a cane.” Teasing words but spoken so gently. “But don’t you ever think for a second you’ll be forgotten. Not by the universe. Not by me.”

[wingsy-keeper-of-songs]

Delirium

Anon wanted some Chud love so I delivered. The character I used for this is a work in progress. She doesn’t even have a name yet, but I plan on doing more with her and Chudnofsky later on. Her job is to fix up our Russian bad boy when he done fucks up like going after the Green Hornet alone, or just being an idiot in general. Also, I didn’t include the whole “let’s stab Christoph in the eyes” thing because one he would not have survived that. And two, ew, eye gore. So, without further ado, here is Delirium!

The first thing she’d noticed at the club was that a lot of the dancers were high off their tits. The second thing she’d noticed was the nearly always absent owner finally showing up. She’d heard some things about Benjamin Chudnovsky (or however the hell you pronounced his name), and from what she’d made of it, a lot of them were true. He’d paid a man to kill himself, he sawed off some schmuck’s hand, you name it and dear old Ben did it. He was a scary motherfucker, though he appeared unassuming to most. She recalled her old employer Crystal Clear telling her about him, how he was harmless, that he was washed up and ought to just retire. Now he was in ashes along with the club that had been blown sky high and she was stuck working for Benjamin Chudnovsky.

Granted, it wasn’t the worst job in the world. Danny Clear had her stripping most of the time, but Ben seemed was pretty old school. He had her either waitressing or bartending. She wouldn’t dance unless she was desperate for cash, and he paid her fairly well. She found herself thinking about Ben quite a bit lately, and it would distract her during work. She hardly saw him out of the office. He was usually taking phone calls, fucking someone up, ruining someone’s life with crack cocaine, the usual crime lord shit. She wasn’t privy to his business and if he wanted someone to know what he was up to, he’d come right up and say it. He was straightforward that way and she appreciated it. Danny had been the type to use and abuse, and having been one of his cheapest dancers, she knew this firsthand. She was pretty fucking grateful when Ben stepped up to the plate, ready to take on LA and all it offered. He was a child of the Russian mob, and their kind didn’t fuck around. He’d reminded people of this when he took over Danny’s business.

“I don’t fuck around,” he told them seriously over drinks once. “Once you’re under my employ, you’re in it for life. Treat me with respect, you’re rewarded. Fuck me over, and…” he smirked. “…well Danny saw how that played out, didn’t he?” The scare tactics worked well. He had himself a unified gang member army and with that army, he could crush anyone he pleased. She didn’t know what his plans were now, but she suspected it had something to do with some idiot running round in an insect costume and causing trouble. The papers were calling him the “Green Hornet.” It sounded ridiculous to her, but a lot of people tended to be more afraid of the guy in a costume rather than the real threat with a double-barreled Desert Eagle. It made little sense to her, but then again she was just some bartender in a shitty hole-in-the-wall club. She didn’t know what kind of deals went down in LA. She was paid to keep her nose out of trouble when cops came sniffing around. If there was one thing she was good at, it was being invisible. No one ever noticed her.

She remembered exactly where she was when Ben was brought into the club, shot nearly to death by his own gun. His second-in-command barked orders for alcohol-soaked rags and whiskey to numb the pain. Ben said little to nothing and looked like death. His skin was pale and clammy and he was most likely fighting off an infection. He was placed up in the apartment above the pub for now, and she was the one stuck tending to his stubborn ass, being the only person in the gang with any medical knowledge. She’d wanted to be a nurse before dropping out of med school because tuition was terrible. She headed upstairs, armed with illegal painkillers and bandages. She knocked on the door and shoved it open with her shoulder to find him propped up by pillows and looking more than a bit distressed.

“What are you doing in here?” He asked, blinking over the black-rimmed glasses he was wearing.

“Apparently I was volunteered to take care of you,” she answered. “Tending to dipshits is women’s work, I guess.”

“I resent that remark.”

“You also resemble it.” He huffed and looked away from her, not in the mood for her banter.

“What’s that?” He nodded at the brown bottle she was now pouring onto a rag.

“Hydrogen peroxide, it’s supposed to help.” She replied, not taking her eyes off her work.

“You keep that shit away. It stings like a mother-”

“You want an infection?” She interrupted him. He pouted and looked down, resembling a petulant schoolboy rather than a feared LA gangster.

“No,” he muttered softly.

“Then be a good boy and hold still. This is going to sting.” She pulled back his shirt a little to get at the stained bandages. She helped him sit up and tried very hard not to notice that he was breathing on her neck and it gave her goosebumps. If he leaned a little closer, he could have kissed her neck and the thought made every never on her body tingle. She didn’t have time for that shit.

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” He whispered near her ear. She suppressed a shiver. Damn him and double damn that accent of his.

“Like hell,” she replied as she unwound the last of his bandages.

“You could have at least lied a little,” he sighed as she helped him sit back.

“Quit being a baby and hold still,” she ordered him and began to dab at the wounds. They didn’t look as bad as before. The swelling had gone down some, and there didn’t seem to be any signs of infection. Ben sucked in a breath and fought tooth and nail not to wince or cry out, but fuck him sideways it stung.

“Goddamn,” he rasped when she pulled back. “That shit better be worth it because fuck, does it hurt.”

“It should hurt, that means it’s doing its job.” She told him. “Your ass is lucky to even be alive, so no whinging.”

“Next time I see Kato, I’m murdering him myself. With a nail gun.” He muttered darkly, wincing again as she dabbed at the wounds.

“Of course you are,” she said, not taking her eyes off her work. “But you’re in no condition for revenge right now, so put it out of your mind and focus on getting better. Then you can go back to terrorizing the local populace for fun.”

“I feel the sympathy,” he said sarcastically. “Your bedside manner is what I like most about you.”

“Your powers of observation continue to serve you well,” she sassed right back. “Now, quit your squirming and hold still.”

“I don’t need a nurse, you know. I’m fine.” He protested, attempting to avoid the rag. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I’m tempted to tie you down and do this just so you’d stop wasting my time,” she informed him. His answering smirk was enough to earn a smack to the face, but she refrained.

“Kinky.”

“Shut up.” She continued to nurse his wounds until she was satisfied with how they looked. “All right, I’ll need you to sit up again so I can rewrap these.” Wincing, Ben did as she asked (he would deny it later). “See how easy this is when you listen to me?” She said with a sweet smile. “You’re almost done, and then I can leave you to do whatever it is you do in here.”

“I usually sit back and fantasize about you.” He said teasingly and she briefly fantasized about smacking him, but that would have been detrimental to his recovery.

“I’m sure,” she replied sarcastically and started to wrap him up again. “Arms up, please.” He did as she said, leaning forward so she could reach behind him. Honestly, were he feeling bold enough, he was close enough to draw her into an embrace. However, he liked his face the way it was and he was relatively sure she’d deny him painkillers if he tried anything.

When she was done wrapping him up, she had him lay back again and unscrewed a bottle of painkillers. “These should help with any discomfort,” she said, all business-like despite having had him in a half-embrace. Was he imagining it, or was her face pink?

“Hey,” he said softly as she turned to leave.

“What ?” She looked back at him.

“Thanks,” he said, unsure of what else to say. “You know, for putting up with me and my bullshit. I know I can be a real pain in the ass.” For the first time since she’d walked in, he saw her smile and for some unknown reason, his heart sped up. He should get her to check that later, he thought.

“You aren’t that bad,” she assured him. “A pain, yes, but not as bad as you think you are.” He stared at her retreating back as she left him to his own devices.

What the hell did that mean?